“Be quiet,” he hissed.
“Send for a doctor immediately,” Phoebe said.
“Send Jack for the doctor,” he said, and Sally dashed through the doorway.
“There is another man in your stables who must be attended to as well,” Phoebe said, then turned. “Donald, see His Lordship to his room.”
Donald and Aaron lifted Kiernan by his armpits.
“I, too, will need a room,” Phoebe added.
“We ain’t got no more rooms,” the proprietor’s wife snapped.
“Roger.” Kiernan’s low voice quieted the room. Donald and Aaron halted as he said, “The lady is my future wife. You will see to her comfort?”
“Aye, my lord, I will,” the proprietor said with a quick bow. “My wife isn't always aware of the rooms we have available. Rest assured your lady will be looked after.”
Kiernan closed his eyes and Phoebe prayed no more would be heard from him that night.
Phoebe watched Dr. Wilcox place a bottle of laudanum on Kiernan’s nightstand before he turned to her.
“He lost a great deal of blood,” the doctor said.
Phoebe agreed. It showed in the paleness of his skin. The doctor had made short work of extracting the ball from his leg. Now, an hour later, he rested, and they waited.
“The fever concerns me,” the doctor went on. “If it breaks, he'll do well. He's a healthy lad, the chances are in his favor. You did a fine job on the bandage. Chances are it saved his life. Administer the laudanum if he wakes. As it is, he should sleep through the night."
"His lordship will see to the bill in the morning," Phoebe said. "You will see to the other man, as well?"
"I will."
He rose and she escorted him to the door. "Thank you for coming."
The doctor nodded. “I'll look in on him in the morning."
She opened the door and said again, "Thank you,” then closed the door behind him. “So,” she faced Kiernan, “the tables are turned. It is I who must attend to you.”
Phoebe crossed to the bed and placed a hand on his forehead. He was still hot to the touch. In sleep, Kiernan MacGregor's features softened, but the masculine angles remained. His mouth…his mouth she remembered with more clarity than she cared to admit. She had yet to forget the damn kiss, and that was the one thing she should forget.
Her mother’s ruby ring, her father’s age-yellowed letter, and Dr. Connor’s binaural stethoscope danced around Phoebe’s head. She jumped, desperate to snatch each one as they dipped closer, but every time she caught one, they melted in her fingers. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the only sentence in her father's letter that was legible: I give my blessing to this marriage.
She didn't remember that line in his letter. How had her father known about Kiernan MacGregor? The stethoscope made a sudden dive, then snapped back, causing the end to crack like a whip and hit her head. She cried out in pain and the letter followed, lashing across her face. She swatted viciously, ripping the corner. She wadded the fragment of paper and flung it after its whole.
The three objects turned in unison, forming a line as if for a coordinated attack, then lunged for her—Phoebe awoke with a start. At sight of Kiernan MacGregor asleep in bed, she leapt to her feet. She looked wildly about for her three foes, but saw nothing flying about in the soft glow of the fire-lit room.
She touched her head where the stethoscope had hit her, but found no soreness. A dream. Phoebe collapsed back into the chair, the beating of her heart so loud she wondered how her patient could sleep through the noise. Even with the phantoms gone, fear gripped her. She considered lighting a lamp, but suddenly remembered her plans for the evening. She touched Kiernan's forehead with the back of her hand. Sweat dotted his brow, but he was cooler to the touch than he had been when they arrived. He would recover. She released a slow breath, then stood and pulled the bedcovers up to his chin.
“When next we meet, I shall be home.” Phoebe crossed to the door and opened it. Stepping into the dark hallway, she closed the door with a soft click. “Blasted innkeeper,” she muttered, then realized it was probably the innkeeper’s wife who was too cheap to light the hallway.
She started forward. Her toe jammed against something hard. A man grunted. She stumbled when her next step landed on hard flesh. She tried to sidestep again, but lost her balance completely and toppled on top of the man, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“My lady!” he cried, and Phoebe recognized Donald’s voice.
She gasped for air as he shoved her away and leapt to his feet, pulling her up.
“I didn't know you would be leaving the laird this evening,” he said. "Are you hurt?”
She glared at him. “Why are you sleeping in the hallway? Did that odious innkeeper deny you a room?”
“Nay. I, uh, well, that is, I can't leave the laird unguarded.”
Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “You mean you can't leave me unguarded.”